


Soggy Biscuit Boy

by terma_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-01
Updated: 2002-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:27:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26501365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terma_archivist/pseuds/terma_archivist
Summary: eewww...the inevitable, unconscionable sequel to "Circle Jerk"— Spender watches the big boys at play.
Collections: TER/MA





	Soggy Biscuit Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [TER/MA](https://fanlore.org/wiki/TER/MA) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the TER/MA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/terma/profile).

  
**Soggy Biscuit Boy  
by The Spike**   
(with apologies to Barry Lowe and just about everbody else on the planet) 

  
**Hoover Building,  
Washington, DC   
12:02 am**

Jeffrey Spender sat in front of the bank of monitors and stared with dreamy horror at the black and white, off-angle images running in jumpy double time before his eyes. Still sleep-fuddled, fuzzy in his suit and tie. The urgent call from his—father—had come just after eleven pm; dragging him from vaguely awful nightmares—weirdly erotic dreams with aliens and Nazis and exploding heads and he had woken to find himself disturbingly hard and sweaty and shivering with self-disgust. 

"Go to Room G1-1013 and play the tapes you find there," the smarmy voice had insinuated on the phone, as he wiped the sheen of nightsweat off his face. "There are things I want you to learn." and before he could ask how or why, the line disconnected. Already creeping doubt and he didn't want to go, but God knew he wasn't getting back to sleep tonight and anyway, he was in this as deep as he could go. So, out of bed, splashed water on his face and dressed. 

And now here he was, at the command of a man he could neither love nor trust and what was he watching...? The tapes had started harmlessly enough, three monitors—familiar subjects: Mulder on one; Skinner on another and on the third some other guy he didn't know, doing stakeout or suveillance on a dark, deserted street. He sipped at the scalding coffee in his cardboard cup, opened the package of Fig Newtons he'd got from the machine, leaned back in his chair. And nearly fallen on the floor as one by one the tapes turned into hard core porn. Spender's mouth had fallen open; short, sharp shocks to his system as he watched Skinner's perfect, heavy-muscled form; naked to the world and pulling hard and fast on a tool like the proverbial baby's fist; and Mulder, Jesus, Mulder you sick sick fuck—and if he weren't alone he would have blushed at the deep and twisting ache he felt at the sight of that slim form, chained and bedangled and impaling himself on—on, whatever the hell that was sticking out of his dresser drawer. But it was the third guy, the stranger, who really got under his skin. The beauty of that face; the horror of that stiff prosthetic arm braced against the wheel—the abandoned bucking of his hips. And Skinner on his knees; and Mulder on his couch; and pretty boy still behind the wheel, beating and panting and howling at the moon and Spender found the creepy arousal of his nightmares rising up in him again like fog—hard bulge in his pants... Is this what he was supposed to learn? Or was there something else? 

Breathing hard he stopped the tapes rewound and played again, looking for other clues. Finding only that the ache in his groin intensified, pulled tighter. And watched to the end then back to the beginning and again, and then again.. And after a while, not even looking for anything else but, pulling his own pale length from his fly, he stroked with trembling hands as Skinner came and pretty boy came and Mulder came and came and came and finally, slow and cold and panting, Jeffrey Spender's turn to spend. 

Strange, harsh orgasm and jerks and spurts and creamy stripes laid across the shiny conference table in the dark. Abruptly ashamed, disgusted he slapped the monitors off, wiped himself on a napkin, tucked himself away. Smearing the napkin over the table, he moved his cup to find come dripping down the cardboard side; a blob like icing on the half-eaten cookie just beyond. 

And weird frisson of disgust at the strange compulsion that drew his hand—creepy rightness to top a creepy night, like somehow obligation must be met—he picked the soggy biscuit up and popped it in his mouth. 

* * *

_Is 'soggy biscuit' common knowledge? If not, it's just a version of the circle jerk, a bunch of guys stand around jerking off onto a cookie or biscuit and the last one to come has to eat the soggy biscuit. Probly more than you wanted to know, right?_

Spike 

[email removed] 

for Te, with extra gravy—and no, this isn't the prezzie I promised.   
disclaimers: hmm—I don't know if I even want 'em after this   
rating: a sticky NC-17, Sp   
spoilers: vague for The Beginning, Drive, Triangle   
summary: eewww...the inevitable, unconscionable sequel to "Circle Jerk"—   
Spender watches the big boys at play.   
NOT beta-ed.   
---


End file.
